The Ambassador's Wife
by SockMaker
Summary: What did Cinderella and the Prince talk about at the ball? How did Cinderella come to have an evil stepmother? How did she really feel about those glass slippers? And most importantly, what about that "Happily Ever After"? I shall attempt to answer...
1. Chapter 1

Ashlei felt dizzy and thick-headed, as if she had just emerged from being underwater slightly too long. Around her colors and lights swirled, and she fought to get her bearings.

She gasped for air. Looking down, with a shock she realized that the brown homespun of the dress she normally wore was gone, replaced by an unimaginably rich red brocade, heavy with embroidery. It was the corset that constricted her chest--an unfamiliar sensation. Gold twinkled from her wrists and fingers, and a small train sliding across the floor behind her contributed to the feeling of walking through water. Her feet hurt, too, and with another small ripple of surprise Ashlei discovered glass slippers on her feet. Inexplicably, red paint on her toenails peeped through.

Ashlei placed her hand on the banister and paused, steadying herself. A grand entranceway loomed just ahead, and through it she could see a ball in progress. Flashes of jeweled color swept past, and she could hear the orchestra grinding out a waltz. Candelabras stood on the steps leading up to the doorway, blazing a path for the guests.

Breathing more slowly now, Ashlei remembered that she had, in fact, solicited help from her great-aunt's magical potions, and the process of being transformed from an ordinary hearth girl to a dazzling coquette was complete. She had not expected it to be this disorienting, and painful.

Behind her, Ashlei saw other guests emerging from gilded carriages drawn by matched pairs of white or grey horses. Gentlemen stepped down and then reached inside to help the women secure their footing on the ground and avoid getting their voluminous skirts soiled. Several couples and a group of young women passed Ashlei as she stood on the step, glancing at her briefly but continuing their eager progress toward the grand entranceway. The oddly-shaped conveyance that had brought her here circled away from the drive to park in the grass beyond the garden.

"It's now or never," Ashlei thought, and she took one final mental inventory of her dress. She settled her shoulders squarely, winced as the unyielding footwear dug into her heel, and proceeded into the ballroom.

Through the doorway she was enveloped in a wash of glittering crystal chandeliers and a buzz of conversation punctuated by affected laughter.

"The inside of the palace certainly lives up to its outside appearance," Ashlei observed under her breath, taking a moment to notice the silk wall panels, the shining sconces, and carved, painted chairs lining the edges of the walls. At one end of the huge ballroom was a buffet table laden with hams, roasted sides of beef glistening pinkly in the middle, fish laid out on platters, enormous piles of small cakes, apples, and dishes of candies and nuts. A fountain discharged pink liquid, which Ashlei assumed was punch.

At the other end of the ballroom were several alcoves, above which a balcony jutted out. Here was where the orchestra played, and the musicians kept to their work with weary and pretended joyfulness.

At the edge of the doorway, Ashlei felt secure in the knowledge that she would not be noticed much. After all, her purpose in coming tonight was not to be observed, but to observe. She was very curious to see whether the Prince, whom she had heard snippets of gossip about, was really going to choose a wife at one rather contrived event. Sheer stubborn curiosity, tinged with skepticism, had given her the idea of trying to attend the ball, and after gulping the foul, malodorous potion which her great-aunt had concocted for her, here she was.

Her great-aunt had warned her that the idea was foolish. A small, rejected wisp of an old woman, whose magical powers had faded over the years with the grind of poverty and self-sufficiency, would not be able to conjure up the necessary magic. But she had, and Ashlei's desire to attend the ball had contributed to the power.

Normally, Ashlei was content to do her housework, tend the animals, and read late into the night with books stolen from her father's disused, dusty library from under the nose of her harsh stepmother. But when the proclamation had gone out that the King's son would hold a ball so that he could find a wife, Ashlei's skepticism knew no bounds. How could a person live a lifetime with someone they knew only for one evening? Ashlei thought that at the very least, it would make a diversion from her dull, routine life, and the more she thought about it, the more she was determined to go. Besides, wouldn't it be a delightful trick to play on her stepmother, who was such a foul bore, and her idiot stepsisters, whose only concerns were the neighborhood gossip and the latest fripperies displayed in the fashion journals. Especially because, even though the invitation read, All Eligible Young Women of the Domain (Far and Near), the thought of Ashlei being among those eligible had simply not occurred to of them.

So Ashlei crept steadily into the ballroom, edging her way past a fat matron sitting contentedly with a plate of cream puffs balanced on her brocaded lap. There were quite a lot of Eligible Young Women present, she noted, and they were all clustered at the far side of the room, watching with various expressions of vapid eagerness and jealousy as the Prince danced with each one in turn. Keen-eyed mothers hovered nearby, coaching their daughters heavy-handedly toward a potential match with the Prince.

Ashlei observed the hopeful scheming with no small measure of contented skepticism, a slight smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. She tapped her closed fan at her side to the beat of the music and allowed herself quick glances at the ornamented ceiling, on which cherubs, angels, and birds seemed to float. It was a fine experience just to be present, and to be able to watch the social drama as it played out. By the end of the evening, she would see the Prince choose his wife, and she would wish them a lifetime of happy days together, or whatever the turn of phrase was, as she swept out.

Ashlei began to notice how gracefully the Prince moved, and decided to take a more careful look at him, to see what kind of man would decide to choose a wife this way. In order to get closer, she had to manouver around to the side of the ballroom near the alcoves, almost to the edge of the cluster of girls and their hawk-like mothers. He really was quite handsome, she admitted, if you like blond men. Her taste ran to the dark looks she imagined the authors and heroes of her philosophy and history books to have, and had never particularly noticed the young men of the village with fair countenances. The Prince had a way with a dance, she saw, as the waltz gave way to a minuet that showed off the virtuosity of the violin players. As he held the waist of the newest beauty to grace his arms, she gasped to recognize on his face—was it a hint of contempt?

Why would the Prince, who presumably was going to marry one of these beauties, feel this way toward the girls being paraded in front of him? Shouldn't he at least display some calculated curiosity? It seemed to Ashlei this was a strange development that none of the other young ladies had noticed in their bald eagerness to outshine each other.

At the other end of the cluster of women, Ashlei saw with satisfaction the same blank eagerness on the faces of her two step-sisters. Isabella was dressed in a gold gown oversewn with crystals. Her corset barely managed to hold in the slight roll at her waist, a product of a few too many marzipans. Her arms were raised and a faint beading of sweat graced her forehead underneath the crystal headpiece. Too many crystals, thought Ashlei. The younger step-sister, Frederica, was thin and pale, and her face showed both her insecurity and her desire to be like her older sister, for she glanced every now and then at Isabella and tried to imitate her bearing and actions. Frederica's dress was a pale green, which did nothing for her sallow skin and slight frame, and although it was of the latest fashion, like everyone else's, Frederica failed to shine in it. Behind them, their mother scowled, probably at the pink-garbed girl currently in the Prince's arms, and clutched her evening bag in a bony hand.

Ashlei clapped politely as the minuet ended and decided she was thirsty. Having no male companion to fetch a drink for her from the trickling fountain of punch, she picked up the edges of her red brocade skirt and began to stride purposefully away from the cluster of women and their mothers. She succeeded, she hoped, in keeping any hint of the pain she felt from her godawful uncomfortable shoes off her face as she began to make her way across the floor to the food and drink.

As she proceeded toward the side of the ballroom, the girl in the feathery pink gown who had been dancing with the Prince was swarmed by both the girls who had not yet had their turn, demanding to know how it was; as well as those who had, wanting to make sure the Prince had not said anything more witty or admiring to her than he had said to them. Ashlei was knocked aside by the rush of girls, and lost her balance slightly. Trying to avoid letting out a curse, Ashlei righted herself, and found herself face to face with the Prince.


	2. Chapter 2

"Good evening, mademoiselle," the Prince said.

"Oh! Good evening, my lord," Ashlei stammered. Suddenly she felt uncomfortably warm. She certainly had not planned on getting close to the Prince this evening, and now she was right in front of him. He gazed at her with an indecipherable look, giving her his undivided attention.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" The Prince inquired courteously.

Ashlei grasped her fan more tightly in her hand and smoothed her skirt nervously. She had no idea what to say. Her plan to gracefully remain unobserved so that she could indulge in her observations had gone awry.

"Actually, I was just going to get some punch," she said finally. She looked up at the Prince's face and saw that he had eyes the color of a calm, quiet night, the kind of deep evening sky that soothed her after a long day of work. Across the ballroom, the Prince had appeared young, but now that she was standing near him she could see a sprinkle of gray hair at his temples and faint laugh lines crinkling the corners of his eyes. She felt a sudden urge to touch his cheek.

"You do not care to dance?" The Prince asked.

Ashlei thought about the times that she had danced with her father as a girl. In the garden, under a shining blue sky with birds chirping, her father had taken her by the hands and whirled her around. As she grew up, he taught her the popular dances of the court so that by the time she was ten, she could waltz, gavotte, and minuet like a lady-in-waiting. It was an escape, for both of them, from the stiff, formal dinners her step-mother insisted on, with everyone sitting at the long dining table in their uncomfortable clothes, having to observe the exact niceties of ettiquette. Out in the garden with her father, she could take her shoes off and dance on the grass in his strong arms.

But that was long ago, and since the tragedy of her father's death, she had not danced a single step. The Prince's question stirred all these old memories which were made bitter by the loss of her father.

"No, I do not," she said forcefully, angry at him for making her think of her father. "I do not dance."

The Prince's eyes bored into her but he kept his polite smile. "I see," he said. "Then, I shall accompany you to the fountain for some refreshment."

This was the last thing she wanted, to be escorted across the wide ballroom on the Prince's arm, especially since she had seen that look of contempt upon his face. Looking around frantically, she saw that while she had been absorbed in the Prince's presence, the orchestra had struck up another tune and many of the girls were reluctantly dancing with their portly fathers and bored brothers who had chaperoned them here. They looked at her with various expressions of dismay, jealousy, and hate.

Turning and clicking his heel, the Prince took her arm in his hand and Ashlei had no choice but to walk with him. As they began their movement toward the refreshments, Ashlei could hear whispers and comments.

"Who is _she_?"

"Why has the Prince stopped dancing with us?"

And then, Ashlei recognized her step-sister Isabella's breathy voice. "Is that Ashlei?"

Her step-mother hissed, "Ashlei? Are you sure? That can't be. She was not invited, and we did not bring her."

Suddenly Ashlei could not get across the ballroom fast enough. Nearly tripping again on her long brocaded skirts, she stepped more quickly, and the Prince had to quicken his pace to keep up with her. He steadied her arm with his hand as she winced again at her hard shoes.

Ashlei tried to hold her head high and felt a flush of warmth on her neck and face. Her fast-unraveling plan had not included her step-mother and step-sisters recognizing her, and now she knew she must stay away from the ballroom as the party continued so they would not find her and confront her. If she had not been with the Prince, they might have left her alone, but being on his arm in so public a way made her stand out. She wondered what they would do to her, what additional arduous tasks they would give her the next day. Her annoyance at the Prince grew. He shouldn't have singled her out like this.

The Prince took two filled champagne glasses from the gold-liveried attendant and handed one to Ashlei. A door behind the fountain was open. It led onto a wide veranda made of grey and white stone. Columns wreathed in ivy graced the portico which stretched down the length of the ballroom. At the ends of the portico were wide, curving steps that led down into a lush garden.

As the Prince escorted Ashlei through the doorway and the sounds of the ball faded, a curl of desperation grew in her stomach. What on earth was she doing? She was a nothing, a nobody, just a country girl with a foolish plan to crash the Prince's ball, a ball at which he was publicly going to choose a wife. She felt rediculous in her heavy brocaded gown, her hair upswept and bejeweled. She was not herself at the ball, she was an imposter, and now Ashlei felt sure that the reason the Prince had escorted her out was because she didn't belong. Even though he appeared courteous and had given her a drink of punch, Ashlei was sure at any moment his face would change, now that he was out of public view, and give her the same look of contempt as he had the other girl.

Cool night air swept over Ashlei's flushed face and she breathed deeply, gratefully, wondering if she could keep up her pretense long enough to make a polite exit. Several other guests were standing at the other end of the portico. She could see a tall matron in a chocolate velvet gown and gold feathers in her hair looking out at the garden. By her side a solicitous gentlmen pointed at something. Further down, two girls fanned themselves and giggled together on a gilded bench.

Deciding to make her exit before they noticed and before the Prince discovered her ruse, she began, "My lord, I thank you for a wonderful time but now I must--"

"My lady, allow me to properly introduce myself," interjected the Prince, letting go of her arm and taking her hand. "I am Philippe, dauphin of this lovely and beautiful realm." He bowed low over her hand, grazing it with his lips. As he stood he said, "may I know your name?"

Ashlei felt more disconcerted and panicked than ever. She thought that at any moment the Prince was going to ask her to leave and she would feel humiliated and foolish. But he had not done so yet, but instead, formally and courteously introduced himself. Furthermore, the brush of his lips on the back of her hand made her tremble in an unfamiliar way. Her curiosity reasserted itself, and she decided it would do no harm to spend a little time with him. Besides, she could find out what she had wanted to know all along, which was how he could expect to find a woman with whom he could enjoy marital bliss after only an evening's superficial entertainment.

Hesitating, she thought, I was smart enough to come up with a plan to get myself here and fit in as though I belong. I need to be smart enough to charm the Prince long enough to sate my curiosity, and then I will make my exit.

Mustering a strong voice and courteous demeanor, to the Prince she said, "My name is Ashlei of Beaumaison. I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

The Prince let go of her hand, and a slight twinge of disappointment went through Ashlei. "Beaumaison," he said musingly. I have not heard of it. What is your father's name?"

Ashlei responded levelly, "my father's name was Matthew, and he inherited Beaumaison from a long line of masters. I have lived there all my life." She took a sip of her punch, tasting fruit and noticing how it warmed her throat as it slipped down.

"Was? Is your father deceased?" The Prince asked, taking a sip of his own glass.

"Yes, my lord, he died when I was twelve. I live there now with my step-mother and two step-sisters."

"I am very sorry for your loss, Lady Ashlei," the Prince said. "Please call me Philippe. Do you have fond memories of your father?"

Ashlei felt that the conversation was going in the wrong direction. The Prince was asking too many questions about her, and he had called her Lady Ashlei. She did not go by that title, she was simply Ashlei, or so her step-mother had decided. "Yes, of course," she said lightly. Ashlei tried to steer the topic to a safer area. "What a lovely party," she said. "The music is quite wonderful and I admire how beautiful the ballroom is."

A look crossed Philippe's face that told her he saw how quickly she had changed the subject, but he let it pass.

"Yes, the palace staff did a wonderful job preparing for this event," he said. "Everything has gone smoothly, so far. I am particularly amused by the quantity of 'young ladies of the realm' who are here this evening."

There was that look again, the amused contempt, Ashlei saw. What was it?

"Excuse me, sir—Philippe--I can't help but notice that a look of disapproval crossed your face just now when you mentioned the—other ladies here present tonight. May I know why?"

Philippe smiled at her, and then sighed. Taking her arm once more, he began to steer Ashlei toward the graceful curve of steps leading down to the garden. As he walked he spoke.

"I shall make a confession to you, Lady Ashlei," he said conversationally. "This ball was not my idea. It was my father's. Bless him, the old soft-hearted fellow, he has been trying for years to get me to marry. He has invited many young ladies of the royalty and nobility to dine with us at the palace. I resisted pursuing any of them, because not one of them struck my fancy."

Ashlei digested this information as they stepped onto the stone pathway leading into the edge of the garden. Around them, candles set on tall candelabra wavered in the breeze, and willow trees cascaded flowered branches toward the ground. The setting was breathtakingly romantic, and to be told that her assumptions about the Prince were wrong in such a place caused her heart to miss a beat. So he is not as calculating as I believed, she thought.

"Finally," the Prince went on, "my father laughed and threw up his hands. He said, 'Son, I've had enough of inviting them one or two at a time. Let's invite them all at once!' And that is how this ball came about. He sent out an invitation to all the young ladies of the realm in the hopes that I would find one that I cared to marry."

The question burning in Ashlei's mind since the day her household had received its invitation burst from her lips. "But how," she asked, "can you make such a determination after just one evening of frivolity? In my mind, love simply doesn't work like that. Romance takes time," she added, wondering if she had said too much. She had read many of the old romance stories—Tristan and Isolde, Romeo and Juliet, Dido and Aeneas—and she knew that at the minimum Romance involved dashing adventures, escaspes, misunderstandings, and finally, the inevitable conclusion.

Philippe laughed. "Indeed it does, Lady Ashlei, and I told my father this. I love him dearly, and I would do anything for him. So I acquiesced to this party."

"And you're leaving it…" Ashlei left the sentence unfinished. "But what is the great urgency for you to marry?" The stone pathway narrowed and foliage lush with blooms brushed against Ashlei's skirt. She could smell their sweet fragrances.

"I can understand my father's position," said Philippe. "He wants me to marry for reasons of state. I am heir to the throne. When I become king, I will need a wife and children. Besides," Philippe said, holding a particularly long branch aside for Ashlei to step around, "he is my father. He would like to see me happily married."

The stone pathway gave out altogether and Ashlei found her feet stepping on soft grass. Around them, a curve of hedges grew tall with an opening at one end. Roses grew underneath the hedges, red and pink and gold.

She now had the answers to her questions about how the Prince had expected to find a wife at one ball. It was his father's idea, not his, and the reasons he gave made sense. I would have done anything for my father, too, Ashlei thought wistfully. But now there were many more questions in her mind, such as what the Prince was doing with her here in the garden instead of meeting his admirers in the ballroom.

"I would say you are neglecting your duty, my lord," Ashlei said lightly.

Philippe turned toward her. "I noticed you the moment you walked in, unescorted," he said. "You seemed hesitant, and I was curious. You were not like the other girls who could not wait to get near me. It seemed, in fact, as though you were avoiding me. I am bored of being coveted for my status and wealth alone. All the girls in the ballroom have one thing on their mind. You did not appear to be the same as all the rest, and thus, I'm afraid," he said smiling, "you piqued my curiosity."

Ashlei despaired and rejoiced at the same time. So he was curious about _her_! However, she was not what she seemed, and in order to avoid causing difficulties and making a scene, she must not let the Prince know her real identity at any cost. While her thoughts were racing, the Prince took her glass of punch out of her hand and set it, and his, on a nearby stone bench.

"Will you dance with me here?" he asked abruptly. The question sent a thrill through her.

"I-I told you—I do not dance," Ashlei stammered, moving her head side to side. Her heart yearned to dance again like she had in her garden at home with her father so many years ago. She longed to kick off her painful shoes and sink her toes deep into the grass and be swept up into the Prince's arms. She shook her head again.

But it was no use resisting, for Philippe slid one hand to the back of her waist and held up her other hand. From the rear of the palace, spilling out of the open doorways, Ashlei could hear the faint sounds of a slow, lovely waltz. Philippe began to move and Ashlei's feet, remembering the steps from long ago, involuntarily moved in the same pattern.

"I used to dance with my father, out in our garden," Ashlei said quietly, turning her face upward to feel the soft breeze.

The Prince was courteous, breaking rhythm to help Ashlei through a turn. She felt alive again, full of the beauty of the night and the graciousness of the man dancing with her. Sunlit memories of dances with her father flooded her mind, but with none of the grief and bitterness that usually came with them. She was a grown woman now, dancing with a man who in every way except for wealth and status was her equal. Away from the palace lights, the sky seemed filled with low-hanging stars, close enough to reach out and touch.

As Ashlei came back around to face Philippe, her heel slippped out of her shoe and she stumbled.

"These awful shoes!" she exclaimed. "They are so painful." Ashlei did now, in fact, feel free enough to remove the glass slippers. She did not kick them off, but removed them carefully with her hands and set them side by side underneath the bench.

"What unusual slippers," the Prince observed. "Why, if they are so painful, did you wear them tonight?"

"They--" Ashlei stopped herself quickly. She had nearly given away her secret to the Prince! She was letting her guard down with this kind man, and Ashlei vowed to be more careful.

She had been about to explain the potion her great-aunt had given her, at her request. Her great-aunt had told her she could stay at the ball as long as she liked, that the potion would not wear off until she was ready to go home. She had also, Ashlei remembered, sternly warned her not to disturb any aspect of her attire. My shoes are safe, thought Ashlei to reassure herself.

"They were all I had," she said to the Prince, glancing down at the neat pair of unusual glass shoes.

Ashlei savored every moment of the tender dance Philippe led her in. She had no idea what he was thinking, but his solicitous movements indicated his courteous and considerate character, and as they danced, he guided her carefully around the grass, slowly, so she would not catch her skirts on the bench or rose thorns. I am having the time of my life, Ashlei thought happily, and a pang of regret caught her unaware as she realized that this evening must end, and in the morning she would be orphaned Ashlei, obliged to do the bidding of her step-mother and step-sisters.

Pausing as the waltz ended, Ashlei smiled at Philippe and saw that he, too, was smiling. I wonder if he has any idea how happy he has made me, just for one evening, Ashleigh thought. I wish this night would never end.

"My lady, you have remembered your dances very well after all these years," Philippe said to her.

"My father taught me the court dances. Imagine, a girl of eleven dancing a gavotte!" Ashlei laughed.

"Dancing is something we never forget, like a good book or a fine meal," said the Prince, retrieving the glasses from the bench.

"I agree," Ashlei said. "I have many such experiences stored away in my memory, as I'm sure you do, too." She looked into the Prince's deep blue eyes once again as he placed her half-consumed glass of punch into her hand.

Ashlei gratefully took a sip.

"I hope, Lady Ashlei, that we may at a future date relive those memories with one another, and perhaps even find a new one to share," Philippe murmured, gazing back into Ashlei's eyes.

Ashlei barely heard the Prince's words as she stared in horror at the lace falling from her brocaded sleeve. It was ragged and filthy, as if worn for years and dragged through the mud. She glanced down at the hem of her dress. The brocade was threadbare. She could feel her coiffure beginning to loosen and she frantically grasped at a pin.

Did I disturb the spell by taking those awful glass slippers off? Ashlei thought desperately. If so, in a few moments Philippe would see her as she truly was, and he would not want to dance with her when he saw her brown dress smeared with hearth ashes and hairs from the hunting hounds. Ashlei's heart beat wildly. She had to run away.

Before she could tear herself away from the Prince's presence, Philippe reached forward and touched her neck with his fingertips. Pulling her head forward, he kissed her lips.

The string of Ashlei's pearl necklace broke, spilling beads into the grass. Ashlei knew that the breaking of the spell was only moments away.

With all her willpower, Ashlei tore herself out of Philippe's embrace. She gathered up her fragile slippers; and clutching both of them to her chest in one hand, with the other hand she held up her heavy skirts and began to run.


End file.
